Made of Glass
by Faerie of the Moon
Summary: Arthur apparently didn't have a hard enough time just making it through the city without getting hounded by KrugerSec; some hiCaste idiot had to leave his skylight open. His luck just couldn't hold out for more than ten minutes. Maybe his luck would turn around yet again and the penthouse would be empty. Then again, maybe not. Warning: France and Spain have alternate names.


**A/N** **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Mirror's Edge**

 **Because Francis reminds me of an old woman, I changed France's name to Marceau. For Spain, Antonio just sounded too common and generic, so I changed it to Ramiro. I understand if people don't necessarily like this, but please don't harass or badger me about it.**

 **Also, I don't want to clog the notes up with explanations about the Mirror's Edge universe. So, if anyone who reads this has a question, I'm more than happy to explain in the comments.**

 **I have a tumblr where I write short ficlets and reblog random crap I like. faerie-of-the-moonlight (Originally posted on Ao3)**

Running across the rooftops normally wasn't too challenging for Arthur. Normally, though, he didn't have jobs that involved breaking into a one of the Conglomerate houses. He really should have listened to all the warnings about taking the job. It was a recipe for disaster, but the pay was just too tempting. Greed really bit him in the ass on that one.

At least it wasn't raining that morning. He was having a hard enough time dodging the damn drone without worrying about slipping in a puddle. (If only the City of Glass wasn't made out of, well, _glass.)_ He lost the actual KSec patrols a couple blocks ago, but the damn drone wouldn't get close enough for him to grab. Every now and then, a VTOL would come by again. Those were easier to avoid. They could navigate the tight alleyways.

It was a miracle that Arthur had lasted as that long. He was still recovering from a nasty cold, so his stamina wasn't what it should have been. Cursing KSec and every one of their grunts, he took a flight of stairs three at a time, quickly reaching the top of a building via the fire escape. The fucking drone was still nearby, but Arthur immediately developed a plan when he saw the layout. Maybe he had a little bit of luck left after all.

The roof of the building was designed in a luxurious patio, complete with soft couches and chairs, glass tables, and parasols to protect the residents from the sun and rain. There was also a reinforced electrical wire connecting it to the building across the street.

Not missing a beat, Arthur used one of the couches to jump onto the parasol. With the extra height, he was able to rebound off of the fragile parasol and smack down onto the drone. It landed on the concrete roof with a sickening crunch and electrical zap.

Even though the drone was dealt with, KSec wasn't about to just let him stroll back to a hideout. No, they were much too stubborn for that. Not having any breathing room, Arthur broke into a dead sprint, leaping off of the railing and grabbing onto the electrical wire for a makeshift zip line. It was a good thing he always wore rubber gloves and rubber soled shoes.

He landed smoothly on the roof of the next building and kept running. If his luck held out and the VTOL was delayed enough, he may actually get out of the situation without too much damage. He would have to move to a completely different part of the city, but that wasn't too bad. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time. It was just the facts of life he had to deal with as a runner.

Another fact seemed to be that he was horrendously unlucky. Arthur generally prided himself on always paying attention to where he was going. It was the most simple and most important part of running the rooftops. Failing to pay attention led to death. Normally, though, the rich hiCaste bastards didn't leave their Goddamn skylights open.

His heart leapt into his throat when he started falling headfirst into the skylight. It must have been 20 feet from the skylight to the floor of the apartment/condo/penthouse/whatever the fuck it was. That should have been enough room to maneuver into a roll, but his shock delayed his reaction time. Instead of ending up with a couple sore and bruises, he smacked his head straight onto the granite counter. He stalled the fall part of the way by trying to grab the hanging light fixture; it just wasn't good enough,.

As he rolled onto the hard floor, Arthur registered shocked voices and footsteps coming towards him. Panic started to rise in his chest, yet there was no strength in his body to move. Pain clouded his vision and his eyes rolled back into his head when he tried to sit up. At best, he had a concussion. At worst, he wouldn't know how badly he was fucked. He only had enough medical knowledge to treat a sprain or dislocation.

His vision cleared just enough to make out a few features of the people standing over him. One had tanned skin, another had bright white hair, and the last one had deep blue eyes. They all looked shocked and concerned and one was talking to him. Or maybe at the others. Arthur wasn't sure as he could see the lips moving, but his head was ringing too harshly for him to hear the man. Before passing out, he vaguely wondered if he would be waking up in a prison cell. He was too old for juvie.

Marceau and his friends, Gilbert and Ramiro, had just been sitting around in their house wasting time. They were all lucky enough to have a mutual day off for once. It was a miracle if this ever happened, since Marceau and Ramiro both worked high up in their companies. Gilbert was especially hard up for free time due to his job with Kruger Security. They all had fairly high-stress lives, but they helped each other through it fairly well.

Unfortunately that day was when the air conditioning decided to break for the entire building. It hadn't been bad during the early morning, but it was unbearable by the afternoon. Most of the windows didn't open, so their only recourse had been to open the massive skylight over the kitchen. Combined with constant glasses of ice water, it wasn't so horrible.

"Ah… I wish I could just quit…" Gilbert sighed after finishing his story about pulling two of his coworkers off of a loCaste kid. "We don't actually do anything good. Not unless we're going after those psychopaths in Black November…"

Ramiro gave him a sympathetic smile and shook his head. "If only it was that easy. I wish one person quitting would solve the corruption."

"Hey, if I quit, then you guys are quittin' too," Gilbert scoffed. "I'm not getting kicked out by myself."

"Of course," Marceau chuckled. "We'll just start an uprising on our own and overthrow the Conglomerate. Take over Glass and turn it into a utopia, let everyone be equals and prosper."

"Someone has some lofty daydreams, huh? Don't let your mind wander too much," Ramiro warned.

"Oh, come on. The best treatment for boredom is daydreaming."

Gilbert snorted. "Don't you mean one-night stands and bar hopping?"

"Sometimes, but I don't want to become an alcoholic skank like some people…" Marceau huffed.

Before his friends could continue teasing him, there was a sudden and startling bang from the kitchen. It was loud enough to get all three of them out of their seats. Ramiro even spilled his drink on himself. Gilbert was the only one who didn't stall, immediately hopping over the couch to see what happened. Ramiro and Marceau followed him after sharing a confused look.

All of them were shocked by what they found. There was a young man―barely older than a teenager, surely―with a bleeding head laying on their floor. The granite counter was stained with blood near the edge and had a slight crack from the impact. It didn't take a genius to figure out the guy, most definitely a runner, had fallen through the skylight.

As Gilbert started giving out orders, out of instinct, Marceau was stunned and Ramiro wasn't entirely sure who he was talking to. The wounded man groaned and fluttered his eyes open as he tried to move up. Gilbert told him not to, but the guy immediately passed out anyway.

"Shit. Would one of you two get your heads out of your asses and get me a fucking towel or anything?!" Gilbert demanded. Their reactions were instant as they both scrambled away. While they were running around for first aid supplies, Gilbert gently lifted the man's head and tried to get a look at the wound. He was definitely bleeding quite a bit. It didn't seem to be something Gilbert couldn't treat, though.

When Ramiro came back with a couple towels and gauze, he dropped down to his knees to help. "Don't you think we should take him to a hospital…? That's a high fucking drop…"

Gilbert shook his head as he started soaking up the blood. "No way. We take him to a hospital and he'll be thrown in jail instead of treated… You know how they treat runners."

"And what if he dies in our care?" Marceau asked with a scowl as he set the first aid kit down. "What then?"

"He's not gonna die. Don't get your knickers in a twist," he huffed. "He'll be perfectly fine."

The amount of blood staining their floor might disagree with Gilbert on that, Marceau thought. If this guy did die… Marceau wasn't sure how he would live with the guilt. Surely even jail would be better than dying? Admittedly, he had never thought that much about the runners, but still.

Gilbert spent around ten minutes soaking up the blood and cleaning the wound. He went ahead and stitched up the gash as well. Hopefully there was no damage to the actual skull. The man would definitely have a concussion from the fall, but they should be able to take care of that… If everything worked out.

Just in case, Gilbert ran out to get some extra medicine, leaving Marceau and Ramiro to move their patient to the spare bedroom. (Which was primarily used by Gilbert's sister.) They thought they would have to work together to move him, but he was actually light enough that Marceau could lift him alone. And Marceau wasn't as active as his two friends, so that was surprising in more ways than one.

"Well, he does literally run around the city for a living. He probably has 0% body fat…" Ramiro mused as he opened the door. The spare bedroom was probably a little dusty, but it would do for a makeshift infirmary.

"I suppose… You'd think that he'd have more muscle, then, though. Like Gilbert."

Helping Marceau put the man down as gently as possible, Ramiro shrugged. "Gilbert also has major combat training and spends 15 hours in the gym a week."

There wasn't really much point in speculating about the young man's weight (or lack thereof). Marceau was just trying to distract himself from the gravity of the situation. There was a definitive chance the guy was wanted by KSec, so they were all in a risky position by taking him in. Especially Gilbert.

As Marceau was thinking about how they would go about treating the young man, Marceau realized an issue. They all worked and didn't get a lot of time off. Admittedly, Marceau's boss might be willing to let him work from home for a while… With the right excuse, of course.

Arthur woke up with an atrocious migraine. He tried to crack his eyes open, but that slight amount of light seared his eyes. The rest of his body was sore and protested as well. Moving his fingers just a bit sent an ache all the way through his arm. What the hell had happened to him?

Wherever he was, it was soft… He was on a bed? That didn't make sense. He should either be in a hospital or prison. And he knew perfectly well that neither hospital nor prison beds were that soft. So not only was he in a horrendous amount of pain, but he was also confused. What had happened to him?

A door opened nearby, the click of the doorknob audible from where Arthur laid. Knowing that he wasn't in a safe or familiar location, Arthur felt a sudden wave of panic. Any other time, he could handle himself in a fight no problem. That wasn't any other time, though. He was trapped in bed (apparently) and couldn't even open his eyes. Nothing good could come of the situation.

He tried to feign sleep while he heard the person walk to the side of the bed. When the stranger gently turned his head to the side, though, he couldn't restrain a pained groan. It hadn't been very much movement, but any amount of jostling was enough to cause pain when his head felt like it had been cracked open.

The person gasped and stepped back quickly. "Ah… You're… awake?" the man mumbled. After getting over the apparent shock, he sighed with audible relief. "How do you feel?"

If he couldn't even open his eyes, what were his chances of speaking coherently? And why did this stranger sound so concerned? Almost desperate to find out what happened, Arthur tried to open his eyes again, as well as to say something. He got a brief glimpse of a blonde man frowning at him in concern. Then he passed out again.

Arthur woke up again in less pain than before. His head was still pounding and his body ached in general, but he was able to open his eyes this time. He found himself looking up at a high ceiling framed by lilac walls. There was a big window on one of the walls and the furniture seemed expensive for as little of it as there was. The bed was soft and huge. Arthur felt like a child as he laid on it, even though it was only probably a queen.

There was nothing in the room that helped him identify where he was, other than the window. He was somewhere in the View, an almost entirely hiCaste part of the city. Why was he there and how did he end up in that bed?

Groaning miserably, Arthur managed to sit up. His head was pounding horribly and his vision spun a bit, but he managed it. Getting out of bed was a bigger challenge, as his legs were stiff, weak, and bruised. He didn't have to look at them to be able to know. He knew the feeling far too well.

After taking a couple steps, though, his vision spun too much and he collapsed again. He stayed conscious, but his sense of balance and stability were completely fucked. He may not have had much medical knowledge, but he could still figure out he had a concussion. And a horrible one at that. Figuring out his injury didn't do any good for figuring out where the hell he was. Knowing the district only told him that the owner of the apartment was rich. It didn't tell him anything about the person who had… taken him in?

He sighed at hearing footsteps from the hallway―except they kept going. But, since he wanted answers sooner rather than later, Arthur pushed himself up into sitting (he could manage that at least) and called out. "Oi! Someone in this bloody place want to tell me where the fuck I am?"

Mere moments later, a head of white hair peeked in. The man's expression was bewildered and amused as he half-smirked at Arthur. "Well, look at that. Sleepin' Beauty is awake. The fuck are you doing on the floor?" he laughed.

"That wasn't my goddamn question," Arthur pointed out, ignoring the man's own question. Arguably, his was more important than this stranger's observation. "Where the hell am I?"

"In the guest room of an apartment I share with two friends," the man sighed as he walked into the room. "You fell through our skylight, remember?"

He really should have, but he didn't. It was probably the fault of the concussion. There was no other reason he would forget that. "No… I don't…" Arthur was always reluctant to accept help (especially from strangers), but refusing didn't seem to be an option when the man practically hauled him back to the bed.

"You cracked your head on our counters, so that's probably why. Anyway, name's Gilbert; I'm the one who stitched you up," he grinned, holding out his hand.

He could've made an excuse that he was fighting a wave of dizziness, but Arthur just didn't want to shake Gilbert's hand. He wasn't about to trust anyone just because they didn't turn him in. Some people preferred blackmail. "Hm… And why should I trust you not to pull some shit?" Arthur asked, scowling at the friendly smile.

"Well… You've been knocked out for about… four days and nothing's happened to ya other than what you did yourself," Gilbert pointed out. Not that he could blame him for being suspicious. He knew what runners had to deal with.

How had he been out for four days? Granted, he had a head injury, but that could probably be classified as a mini-coma. "How… That still… doesn't… Why the hell did you treat me?" Most people would probably call KSec if someone fell through their skylight.

"We're not assholes? Wouldn't kill ya to just accept the help and chill out, ya know. Don't try getting up again; I'm gonna fetch some food. Gotta be starving," Gilbert remarked as he turned around and left.

Arthur didn't get much information from Gilbert before he left or after he came back with food. He was left alone to eat and mull over his situation. The irony was that it could kill him to blindly accept help. There was no room for trusting strangers since Kruger started cracking down more on runners. HiCaste or loCaste―neither could be trusted not to sell him out.

Even if he didn't trust the people, he still felt odd by how long he was left alone. Every once and a while, he heard voices coming from the rest of the apartment. There simply wasn't strength in his body to get up, though. The slim possibility of the situation not being so… unfortunate was ruined when he started thinking about how long it could take him to get back to running.

So much of running was about keeping fit and practice, practice, practice. If he didn't keep up on it, then his ability would suffer. He couldn't afford to spend much time off. Not only would he get rusty, but his reputation among the community would deteriorate as well. That was how he got most of his work, so that would hamper him in the long run.

His expression must have been miserable. When someone new came into the room, they laughed awkwardly and grinned sheepishly. "You look like someone spit on your grave."

Perhaps if they met in a better situation, Arthur would find the man attractive. He could tell the blonde hair in the ponytail was shoulder-length and the man's eyes were a curiously deep shade of blue. Of course, personality and morals counted for a lot. HiCaste tended not to have much of either and everything about the man spoke of a hiCaste birth.

"They might as well have… How long do you plan on keeping me here?" Arthur asked, giving the man a wary glare.

"Ah… Until you're capable of taking care of yourself without collapsing on the floor," the man smiled. "Seriously, though, how do you feel? That was a scary fall you took…"

What was with the bleeding hearts in this apartment? Arthur was at a loss with both of them. Apparently none of them had ever heard that runners were also burglars. That or they really didn't care about getting raided by KSec. "I feel like shit and I don't appreciate being trapped here."

The man frowned. "No one said you were trapped. If you can't even stand up by yourself, then you're definitely not going to be able to run."

"I'm aware… I could still recover somewhere… else." Anywhere that he actually knew the people. He knew of two places that, even if he wasn't best friends with the people, he would feel better recovering at.

"So, even though you've been perfectly safe here and nothing has happened, you have no trust for us?"

"Considering how people of your Caste look at runners, no. No, I don't." He had no reason to. Perhaps a few would pay him good money, but that was only to spite each other. It was the rich stealing from the rich to become more rich. Arthur was just the occasional gopher.

"Hmm… Well, maybe it would help if you knew that your face has been all over the news," the man told him.

Arthur stalled and slowly sat up. "What…?"

"Mh-hmm. Whatever you stole from AllCom, they are really pissed off. They even posted a reward for information."

"And why the fuck is that supposed to help me trust you?" If anything, it just made him feel worse about the situation.

The man shrugged and smiled. "Because you're still here and not facing a KSec shooting squad. Not all hiCaste are garbage. Some, maybe not all, but some have had lives that are just as hard as yours. The struggles may be different, but it's not roses and sunshine here either."

Arthur really didn't know what to say to that. He knew someone once who had been hiCaste, but he always assumed that was… unique. He also didn't think much about that person since their death.

"Look," he sighed, "you don't have to like us, but don't be a prick for no reason. My name is Marceau. Can I know yours, since even KSec can't figure it out?" According to Gilbert, there were absolutely no records of the man whatsoever.

The instinct was still there to refuse and be stubborn. It was his nature and why he had survived so long. Feeling defeated, however, Arthur sighed and relented. "Arthur. Don't expect much else from my personal business, though."

"Whatever you're comfortable with." It was a petty victory, but it counted as something for Marceau. Maybe Arthur didn't understand why they were helping him, but that was okay. Part of it was absolutely the guilt for causing the injury. Who could have expected the skylight would be open?

"I'd be comfortable leaving…" Arthur mumbled. "How long am I going to be stuck here?"

"That depends on you, I'm afraid. Your concussion was awful and you're still clearly reeling from it." He should've been in a hospital, realistically. If he wasn't a wanted criminal, then Marceau would've immediately called an ambulance.

"Well, joy…" Arthur sighed. It seemed like he would be stuck there for a while, then. His head was still pounding and his legs felt like jelly whenever he moved them. It would be a miracle if he was recovered by then. It was too bad miracles didn't happen for him. "I'm going to be stuck here for a long time then."

Marceau smiled faintly and took a chance to brush some hair out of Arthur's face. The look he got was unimpressed, but Arthur didn't smack him away. "Hopefully we can keep you entertained. Or at least from dying of boredom."

"Mh, maybe…" If he was being honest, Arthur was already letting his guard down. It was foolish on his part, but he wasn't in a position to do much else. There was something to be said on them not turning him in. No doubt KSec had posted a reward for information; their rewards tended to be absurd amounts of scrip. Certainly enough to tempt him a handful of times. Being turned into KSec was tantamount to death for runners, though―if it didn't actually end up with him dead. There was no predicting Kruger after the last break in at AllCom before Arthur's job. (Which he barely remembered.)

For what it was worth, the three were overwhelming, but… they could take a hint to get out of the room. Most of the time. Gilbert tended to blatantly push his luck while Marceau liked to flirt. Arthur thought that was what he was doing anyway. It wasn't as if he had much history in the matter.

Two weeks later, Arthur was actually able to leave. A week ago, he had started doing exercises when left alone. He was always mindful of not catching the attention of anyone. There was no real reason to keep it a secret, other than avoiding nagging. After half a month, though, he was ready to run again.

Fortunately for him, Black November had taken the credit for his job (as frustrating as that was in some regards), so KSec had dropped everything against him. It was especially nice to hear that _before_ finding out that Gilbert was KSec. Arthur had almost left that day, he had been so furious.

Arthur was sitting at one of the few windows that opened. Fortunately for him, there was an electric line to the next building and he could see a path already. It was just a matter of pulling on his gloves and tightening his shoes.

"Leaving so soon?" Marceau asked, leaning against the wall nearby.

"I think I've mooched enough. I'm liable to get you guys in trouble―even if KSec took down the bounty" Arthur remarked as he secured the straps on his shoes.

Not seeming to care, Marceau shrugged. "I don't see how anyone could figure out you're here."

"Still. I need to get back to running before I get out of shape. I'm sure my reputation's suffered, so getting work is going to be a pain in the ass," he sighed. He would have to do some small dead-drop runs before he got his stride back.

After considering the situation for a moment, Marceau offered an idea, "Maybe we'll have a job for you sometime."

Arthur snorted and stood up. "If that happens, I'm sure Gilbert will know how to find me. I'll see you 'sometime' then, Marceau."

Marceau could only start on his goodbye before Arthur leapt out of the window. Marceau nearly had a heart attack until he saw Arthur sliding down the line. He could only sigh as he watched Arthur break into an easy run. It was curious for him, since he had never actually observed a runner. If he got lucky, it wouldn't be the last time.


End file.
